Rising Tides
by fiesa
Summary: Kiki is the only woman to serve as a Sword. ThreeShot- Kiki, and her story. At the top, it is lonely.
1. Kyo (river)

**Rising Tides**

_Summary: Kiki is the only woman to serve as a Sword. OneShot- Kiki, and her story. At the top, it is lonely. One Shot in three parts._

_Warning: Trying a new perspective. Second-person, Kiki narrates. _

_Set: Story-unrelated, contains spoilers for ch 42 that won't be visible without having read the chapter, everything else is AU._

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. Citing e.e. cummings in one place, and using him as belated-sorta-inspiration-aka-justification for the general theme._

_A/N: For a guest. You left me reviews on all my Shirayukihime stories – Thank you very much! This is for you._

* * *

**Kyo.**_ (river)_

"When you give yourself to someone, you can't just take your own decisions into regard."

"You think so?"

It is unsettling; the way Obi still seems very distant although you have known him for such a long time. And still, the change is visible when you look at him from the corner of your eyes: he is less tense and less distant than he felt to you in the beginning. He's more _real_ and you know who changed him. They changed you, too.

"I remember I used to think that what I did had no impact on other people, and the other way round. Decisions, actions – as long as nobody needed to know where I went and what I did, why should I tell them? It wasn't like they cared."

"But they do."

"Yes."

"And yet, decisions shouldn't be taken away from the one who has to make them."

It is his time to frown. "You think so? Have you, in the last years, made a decision that only and foremost concerned yourself?"

"…"

And it feels like you have lost to him, however small the victory and the defeat. The wind picks up.

"I thought so. Since you love Mitsuhide, I wouldn't have expected it differently."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." He slips from his seat in the tree and lands on the ground next to you, coming out of his crouch graceful like a cat. "Perhaps the difference is in the way one feels."

"What do you mean?"

"You say everyone should make his own decisions, but at the same time you don't heed your own advice. You decide on the basis of other peoples' needs, wishes and orders on a daily basis. But those are people you care for. If it was just _someone,_ you'd just do what you thought was best. Then, again, if you love someone you'll always think of him first, but if you don't care for him you protect yourself by not taking him into account."

"That's amazingly deep, coming from you."

"Well. Observing Master has taught me some things." The shinobi shrugs. "People are like that."

"Like how?"

"Always thinking of others."

"People are greedy. And selfish."

"In the worst possible way."

"Aren't you contradicting yourself right now?"

"Am I?" He turns around and blinks at you lazily. "Kiki, is that your real name?"

Evidence, alibi and proof. You should feel annoyed, but you know him. This is a game you have been playing for quite some time already.

"Maybe."

Obi grins. You are similar, you and he, after all. Obi leaves, and work beckons, and you only remember this conversation later. When the wind lashes heavy rain against the glass of your window and drowns out every other sound you lay there, your eyes open, and stare into the dark. The sheets are cold when you stretch out your hand.

* * *

In the beginning, you weren't Kiki. But one person called out to you and the call became a name, more people followed and it became who you are. All of this, you guess, started a long, long time ago. A time so far past it feels like it has been lost: still, the memories are crystal-clear. And precious, because they hold a precious person. Not every childhood is beautiful. But something began long, long ago, it lead to what has happened since then and to what you are. Something _began_ – something that is still moving, shifting, taking shape today, something that has expanded to let others enter and has tightened carefully to keep you from falling apart. Something has made you who you are. _This is the deepest secret nobody knows. _This is the place where you have come home to, somehow, inexplicably, this is the place where you found yourself. It isn't the place you came from but journeys are unpredictable like that. This is the place you want to stay in until you are sent away, and longer, even if it is a selfish wish. This is not the end of your story. But it is not the beginning, either.

* * *

This is where it starts:

When you are four he grabs you around your waist and whirls you around in a breath-taking spin that somehow always ends with you sitting on his shoulder. From up there the world is so much bigger, so much wider and so much more colorful because you can feel his strong hands on your side and see the silvery-blonde hair of his, and when he laughs your entire watching post rocks forward and backward. You hold on to his hair and his head and laugh and laugh and laugh.

When you are five he takes you out to the river and shows you the animals, early in the morning. It is difficult, being so quiet, at first, and then it becomes entirely normal. There are birds and does and squirrels, and he points out every being silently and carefully. Lying beside him in the high grass you can feel the warmth radiating off him and scoot closer because the morning air is cool and he wraps an arm around you and whispers the little silvery bird no bigger than your fist is a Queen Veery, named because they made the queen smile when everyone thought she would never be able to do so again. The water of the river runs steadily, cool to your touch. You can taste the sweet buns you had for breakfast, you can smell the sweet grass and the clear water and feel Kyo right next to you.

When you are six he takes you to the castle for two days and you see the gleaming swords, the knights-in-training, the high walls and the red sand stone of the towers. There is so much to see you have no idea what to look at first, there are so many things you want to ask that you ask nothing because you wouldn't know where to start. He explains everything you see, introduces you to the knights who greet you by your name like you're one of them, and does not forget to point out that girls can become knights, as well. He laughs when you declare you want to become just like him and for a second his eyes seem sad, but you didn't notice then and only remember many, many years later.

If there is a stereotype on how elder brothers have to behave you are not familiar with it but you love your brother more than anything. Kyo is twelve years older than you, with the same white-silvery hair your late mother had and clear, blue eyes. He is tall and lean, a sword at his side for as long as you can remember: a knight from head to toe. Every summer and winter he returns home for his holidays, spends one and a half precious weeks with you, and those days are what keep you sane, are what you draw your strength from the rest of the year. Kyo is the only one in your family who actually cares about you, who spends time with you and laughs and does not look at you with cold eyes and a hard face. Kyo protects you when your stepmother directs hateful words towards you, when father turns his back on you as if he cannot stand the sight of your face. So, for some years, you learn how to be strong by yourself. Your brother called you a warrior, once. He said it smiling but there was a light in his eyes that showed you he meant it, he _believed_ it. He taught you to defend yourself against bullying village kids. He gave you the strength to go on by yourself, first ignored and hated, then fussed over and ordered around. At some point your stepmother has decided you are old enough to be taught how to be a proper lady, there are dresses and stitching and endless lessons on etiquette. Since it provides a change you go along with it, as long as it is some teacher or another you don't mind. And you learn fast, anyway. During the short, blissful times when Kyo comes home he teaches you sword-fight, at first with wooden props, then later with his old practice weapons: this is your secret, yours and his. And while he is there – while his voice leads you through the training exercises and his smile guides you along – you can forget that you have to be strong and that you are all by yourself out there as soon as he is gone again.

You are nine. He died like a royal knight, they tell you, but it does not matter. Since he was the family's heir he is buried with all the proper honors. Nobody cares for the plain sword he preferred to the ornamented, jeweled one your father gave him, so you take it and wonder why you cannot cry over it. They could have as well killed you with it, you think, and probably they did because the place in your chest where he taught you the heart is is empty and hollow and _cold. _

When you are a few days shy of twelve you run away from the place that never was your home to begin with. You take Kyo's sword and a change of clothes and the fact that you actually make it serves as proof how much the people actually care. And then suddenly they care a lot: because Kyo is dead the noble house needs a heir, and it is supposed to be you. You laugh your father's messenger in the face, and, when he sends soldiers to retrieve you, threaten to kill yourself with your brother's sword if they even touch you. The next messenger your father sends (he never even considers going himself to see you, you think, and wonder at the bitterness that still rises) carries a question: where will you go without his backup, his financial help, what are your plans? How can you even dare to have a plan, reverberates from in between the lines, the disdain behind it clearly showing how much influence your stepmother has, the arrogance speaking of the fact that he never bothered to get to know you enough to be able to anticipate your next moves. You send him back with your answer and think perhaps it would be amusing to watch your father's face when he hears your reply, but anxiousness is creeping into your black humor and you desperately wish Kyo was still there to smile and give you strength. You want to become a knight, you tell him. The next messenger, again, has a proposal: If you actually make it, you will be allowed to remain away from the house you hate so much, as long as you agree to attend certain ceremonies, and you will return as soon as you turn twenty-two in order to succeed the family's heritage. Of course, you being a woman, he does not expect you to even be considered as suitable material for knight training. It is a test of your resolve, ability and strength, one that he has already determined you to lose. You're being given leeway to try and fail – and you will be expected to return home soon, the prodigal daughter, and remain there for the rest of your life. A puppet to your mother's cruelty and your father's disregard and political ambition. But since your father never agrees on something as long as his securities aren't one hundred percent water-proof, there is a second trap set carefully and coolly. You're almost ready to agree to the conditions when you follow your instincts and inquire as to what end the last condition, namely the age, might serve. The answer is as cold as you would have expected it to be. With twenty-two you'll be too old to find a good match, so your father has already sealed a compact with another noble and rich family who has selected this certain age for the time of the wedding. It is almost laughable so you do laugh and remark that if you're lucky, you'll die at the same age as your brother did – one year before the due date your father set.

And suddenly you are free.

One last time, you go down to the river in the early morning, nothing but a small bag and Kyo's sword with you. The summer sun has long lost its strength; mist is beginning to creep over the fields, but the water runs and runs. You stand at its side for a long, long time – and then you turn around and leave, and you never look back.


	2. Zen (lake)

**Zen.**_ (lake)_

Your official introduction to the court takes place on our fourteenth birthday.

Still, before that.

The trials for the new apprentices of the Knights of Oleg are held once a year. Hundreds of people gather on those days – family and friends of possible candidates, family and friends of apprentices and knights and villagers that enjoy the spectacle, the sparring matches and the accompanying county-fair-atmosphere. In the middle of the crowd you still feel alone, terrified, until you remind yourself that this is the only way you will not have to return. And suddenly your number is called and you are in the middle of the marked sparring area, a wooden sword in your hand. On the other side of the sparring field your opponent is grinning at you, already painting his victory in vivid colors. Kyo's voice rings in your mind, as clear as crystal. _You'll always be weaker than men, use your inferior body weight for your advantage-_ The judge gives the starting command and everything else falls away: the crowd, the cheering, the terror. Only you, your weapon and your opponent remain, and your brother's voice in your mind. At the end of the day you have fought your way through eight rounds of sparring matches. You wait in line, exhausted and again terrified of the future. The blood in your ears is so loud it drown out the judge's voice but the sudden silence around you makes you look up. Every single pair of eyes in the courtyard is turned towards you. The judge calls your name again and you stumble forward, disbelieving. At the end of the day, you are officially a knight's apprentice.

Living with the Knights of Oleg takes time to get used to.

It's not the early mornings, the constant exercise or the hard work you find exhausting, although it is. You are an apprentice, so you are treated like one no matter your gender. There are twelve other women in the stationed squadron: three of them full knights, two a year ahead of you, the rest at your level but a year or so older. There also are about thirty boys in the first year of Knight's training, and more apprentices and knights than you can count because they keep coming and going. But it is not what exhausts you. What is so strange is the way people treat you.

Because, when it comes to it, you realize human beings can actually be very kind.

Of course, there are people you don't get along with. Some you simply never get to know well enough and some you just can't stand and who return the sentiment – or maybe they disliked you first? Those are the people who thought you'd be easy to get rid of again because you are a girl, and then, later, the people who feel threatened by you because you best them in swordsmanship no matter the fact that they are your upperclassmen when it comes to training. The first of all trial fights had you damage a boy's reputation severely and this and a damaged ego are reason enough for Kiril to hate you for the rest of your life. Which would be fine – you don't care for him particularly, he's rather a waste of space, his swordsmanship average and his arrogance exhausting – if he hadn't sworn revenge for the defeat you've dealt him during the trials. And he has friends, of course. They try the bullying game but you find that living with your family in a house full of cold, unkind people has you thoroughly prepared for the world. Other things – misplaced belongings, damaged property, things like that – are less easy to ignore. Maybe it is because you are a girl, and you are better at sword-fighting than many of the male apprentices. It's ridiculous, from your point of view: you're good because you trained; it's not like you just became that good overnight. But those who dislike you don't care about that. They know that you are _good_ but that this does not necessarily mean you are _strong. _Taking on more than five opponents at the same time is impossible, and they know it, and that is why they do exactly that. It ends with you in the sickbay for three days and from thereon you are more careful about training at odd times in the small training halls. But you make friends with other apprentices, too. It's not like you deliberately search for them, or are particularly forthcoming. But others talk to you and you have to hold back surprised expressions every time they do, and with time you come to care for them a great deal: you've never had friends before.

One of the functions you are obligated to attend every year is Castle Wistalia's annual Summer Ball. It is held in the gardens outside the castle, at the lake. It is attended by many people, not only by the richest and most influential. It is a rather informal event, as well. Maybe you just expected the heralds and gala dresses and crystal chandeliers that you observed at the Crown Prince's Inauguration. But during this night the grounds are lit with soft, orange lanterns, there are small groups of tables scattered around the grass and a podium for the dances, and the chatter of people drowns out the chirping of birds you long to hear instead. Here is a conundrum: you barely know these people but you are able to talk to them easily. You can imagine your stepmother snapping at you, conversation, child, and briefly wonder what your father learns on such gatherings (you didn't greet him) and what he thinks of you in a heavy dress and uncomfortable shoes, but then you don't care. Maybe it is precisely _because_ you don't know the people that you are able to talk to them. So you smile and curtsy and smile even more. And all the while you wish you were wearing your leather breeches, chest armor and tunica, and the absence of your sword at your side is a physical pain.

You can't help drift in direction of the lake as the night continues on: there are less people there, the lights are less bright and an ominous dusk hangs over it. There is a small terrace that overlooks the lake, white marble that gleams in the darkness, rounded by a stone railing, here, the voices of the guests seem less present, the scent of perfume and the rustling of silk less overpowering. Even the music only floats by occasionally. You sigh when you finally make it over, your dress is surprisingly comfortable but your feet hurt in those high heels and you long to take them off. With the backdrop of the green-and-black lake you almost don't notice the figure sitting on the railing, his legs dangling over it casually: green velvet and blue, fine, blond hair, and a sigh to match yours. The person turns when your heels start clicking on the marble and you wish you had seen him earlier, you wouldn't have come. Turning away now is too late, though.

"Good evening," the person says and you realize it is a boy, perhaps your age, and that his expression is rather curious. "I haven't seen you around before. Who are you?"

You introduce yourself by full name, as you were taught.

"Katherine," the boy muses, and seems to mull over the sound of her name as he leans back and looks at the lake. "A pretty name."

You don't talk much that night. When he takes his leave he smiles again and says that perhaps you'll meet again, and you shake your head and tell him you live far away from the Capital and only visit sporadically.

"Farewell, then, Katherine," the boy says and too late you realize he never introduced himself. And then, when you go to present yourself to your father for the obligatory Good-Night greeting, you see Prince Izana talking to the boy not far from where your father's party stands. The boy gives you a quick smile.

"It seems like you have caught the eye of the Second Prince," your father says when you curtsey to him before taking your leave. The words sound disinterested, he doesn't even look at you – and yet you can feel the potential for arguments in the air that seems to crackle with static. "He has a good eye. In this dress, you look passable." Can human beings get used to unkindness? At that moment you think that you very much miss the friendliness your comrades at the castle direct towards you, and the gentleness that was in the Prince's voice. Whatever reasons your father has to treat you like this – be it because you look like your mother, be it the fact that she died giving birth to you or even merely the thought that he just does not know how to talk to you – it does not matter. His reasons do not matter. His coldness cannot hurt you any longer because you have been hurt so many times that there is no place left unscarred. There was a bridge once that he neglected to cross, and then, when it faded with age and carelessness, failed to maintain – it is gone now. Human beings, you think, can just exist next to each other without any major kind of sentiment left in their hearts. Except for his ambitions to keep his family alive, with you as its heir, your father feels nothing towards you, and for you it is the same.

Prince Zen, you learned that night, does not like grand celebrations, either. You think he seemed like a good person. He didn't complain even once, he was unfailingly polite – and there was more to him, something that intrigues you and makes you want to get to know him better. You only know a few things about that encounter. The lake was beautiful in the dusk, set apart from the brightness of lanterns and the wasteland that is a political society. But you feel that Zen seems very much like you. Maybe that is why you got along so well. It was easy to talk to him. Strange how similar minds recognize each other in the midst of a crowd of strangers.

Sixteen months pass until you meet again and you wonder whether he remembers you or not. He doesn't, but you don't blame him. He has more important things to remember than some girl he met a year and more ago. Still, the familiarity is there. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to explain why you tell him.

"Next season I will have finished my training." It is more a thought than an actual topic and it slips by your defenses only because it is what you have been thinking of for some weeks now.

Zen smiles. "And then?"

You could be friends. You're roughly the same age and share the same profound dislike for politics and lies, coupled with the same loyalty and sense of duty. Zen is an intriguing person: humorous and kind, stubborn and direct. Talking to him seems natural even though you always know there is a difference between the two of you: he is the Second Prince, and you merely are the daughter of a noble family.

"Do you have plans for your future?"

There is no actual future you have so you don't have plans past the point in which you'll be knighted. You shrug and pull your thin scarf tighter around your shoulders. The night wind is cool.

"Brother said he saw you fight last summer, at the annual tournament at the Castle of Oleg. He says you are good."

"It's too much praise from the Crown Prince." You actually won the tournament, for the Knights of Oleg. You knew the Prince had been there but you hadn't been aware he had followed your matches.

"Spar with me." As befitting for a prince, Zen's request sounds like an order. "Tomorrow, in the afternoon. The central training hall."

There is no way to decline without offending him and you wonder whether he knows how much power a simple suggestion can have if a Prince utters it. At the same time, his challenge offers you an opportunity you can't let pass by. Fighting is what you have been doing your entire life. It has become a part of you.

"Yes, Your Royal Highness."

He just says one word when you take your leave. It is like a secret only the two of you share, a promise. "Tomorrow."

After the fight – a few soldiers have gathered, alerted by the clashing of metal, now are dispersing again while two or three linger, and you hope they don't want to talk to you – Zen smiles at you. There's a smudge of dirt in his face where he wiped away sweat with his dusty hands. You are exhausted and exhilarated at the same time, the effect of adrenaline sill coursing through your system. His next words throw you off track completely.

"Would you like to come to Wistalia?" He offers. "You could be my aide. You'd just have to get along with Mitsuhide."

Speechless, you look at him.

"I realize it's a surprising request. I hope you don't feel I am ordering to do so. This decision is yours alone. But you're well-versed in politics and etiquette and the intricacies of the court are nothing new to you. On top of that, you are a splendid fighter and swordswoman. This might seem rash to you, but I've talked with the Crown Prince already and have made up my mind. If you need some time to decide, you could return to Oleg and give me your answer at the ball in two months. We've only met a few times but I trust you. I'd be honored by your presence."

_Usually it's the other way round,_ the distant thought crosses your mind. A full moon gleams in the sky that night, you can see it from your room in your father's house. There are a myriad of stars, one for each human being that died. Kyo's sword is warm and familiar in your hands. Is there a decision to be made?

Zen and you are both sixteen.


	3. Mitsuhide (sea)

**Mitsuhide.**_ (sea)_

"If this should work out, there is something you have to know."

"What is it?"

"I only have six years left."

It actually is not as simple as Zen made it sound. Becoming an aide – a personal knight to a member of the royal family – requires quite a few qualifications. Some of which you already have, some of which you might be able to reach and some which are out of question. Being a knight is one point – excelling in fights is something completely different. Luckily, you have worked and worked and trained and trained until you really are the best sword-fighter in your year, one of the elite of the Knights of Oleg. Sometimes you think it is ironic – had there not been a few people who had constantly bullied you you would probably never been that motivated to truly rise over their expectations. Now you're not only a woman but one of the best knights of your generation. Another thing is etiquette, court rules and politics. While it has been some time, you have mastered all three of those requirements before and you put your mind to it to do it a second time. There is no actual exam to be taken but you understand that a knight who follows his liege lord around a castle day and night must have intimate knowledge of said points. Only the last thing is a matter of impossibility: you won't be able to change your gender.

Zen shrugs. "I don't care for that. And besides, it's a guideline more than a requirement, isn't it? I don't see why women can't be just as good as men. I'll ask the King."

And with that, it is settled.

"If it is what you want," your father writes. For the first time it occurs to you that whoever he will want to marry you to can't be happy about this: who wants a bride who can best any man with a sword, whose body is more muscular than pretty and who probably will be that old by the time the wedding will be held? Old, and perhaps unable to bear children. On the other hand he just wants to uphold the bloodline so perhaps marrying away her and their name might be enough. There are always concubines, or… _No._ It is useless, absolutely futile: in order to keep the inheritance in the family you must bear children once. So why? Why does he let you live like that, a life in which you could get hurt every day to an extent where you would not be able to fulfill your duties to the family anymore? What are his intentions? What his plans? Maybe he thinks letting you become Zen's aide is less dangerous than having you live and fight with the Knights of Oleg. Maybe he thinks having you near Zen is good for the family reputation. You never ask and he never answers.

"Maybe letting you live like this is your father's way of setting you free," Zen says.

You just stare at him, incredulous. "What?" Then: "No. Never." Strands of hair have fallen out of your elaborate knot. They whip through the air in front of you and hit your skin as you shake your head determinedly. "We fight every time we see each other. There is no way…"

"You know him better than I do, I guess," Zen says, and the topic is never breached again.

(Sometimes, you _wonder._)

Introduction:

He stumbles across you rather accidentally on the last diplomatic gala you have to attend. You feel out of place, as usual: the dress your father sent is expensive and excessive in style, the way he likes it. You would have chosen a simpler design, something that would make it easier to blend in. But the knight is clearly hiding from the crowd – why does he have to attend anyway, isn't he the Prince's aide? Can't he just fade into the background? – and gives you the proper greeting after a few first, awkward seconds. Mitsuhide Lowen is tall and muscular, older than you, and yet gives off an air of … Well, not childishness, or inexperience. _Awkwardness_, perhaps? You can't really say. He seems like an airhead, unable to make the connection between the woman in the ball gown and, the next day, the knight in uniform. Shouldn't he be more observant, especially regarding his position? You wouldn't have thought a person appointed Knight to the Prince would be like that. You expected someone like Crown Prince Izana's guard, tall, dark, wordless, competent and dangerous. Someone around to let the prince know that everything is alright with a mere glance, someone able to exercise his own authority on the Prince, if necessary. Mitsuhide seems as if the Prince would rather ignore him completely when it comes to it. (And really, it is exactly as you expect.) But _oh_, he is a brilliant fighter.

"My compliments," he tells her after your first sparring match, and every trace of awkwardness you have observed on him when he talks to other people, women, especially, is gone. "Your skills are exceptional."

"As are yours," you reply. In fact, you haven't had a partner who could keep up with you the way Mitsuhide does for quite some time. At one point, all the knights you've ever trained with either grew frustrated and made mistakes which led to their defeat, or gave up. Or, in few cases, used tricks to gain the upper hand, a legitimate practice – albeit not being a honorable one, in your eyes. Of course, you have been defeated before. But someone who does not only block your attacks but counters, skillfully, calm and thoughtfully, someone who is able to make a training match into more than a _match _and into actual _training_ – people like that are rare.

Mitsuhide smiles at you. "Are you free tomorrow morning?"

You learn to see him by fighting him: it is an exhilarating experience. He is an exceptional man. Complex, airheaded, utterly devoted. Fierce, unrelenting, unyielding, soft and kind. On some days he reminds you of your brother. You look at him and see his grey eyes and his blond-and-brown hair, his hand curled around his sword grip, his gaze losing itself in the distance. Kyo was a bit smaller and lighter, he had brighter hair and lighter eyes and more pronounced cheek bones. Mitsuhide is as devoted as Kyo was, serious when it comes to things that matter to him, honest up to the point that he would never tell a lie even to spare someone's feelings. Only you are pretty sure Kyo did not blush and shrink when women acknowledged or thanked him. No, Kyo always smiled, brightly and warmly, while Mitsuhide's true smile is rare as a blue ruby. Still, both ways of smiling, when directed towards you, change something deep within your heart. It is painful and exhilarating at the same time. Kyo was your brother and Mitsuhide is your partner and you think they really aren't alike except when they are. And Zen, somewhere along the way, has become your Prince, the man you follow without question but whose orders you might question if necessary because he gives you the same respect you show towards him. Even though he sometimes does not like it he is aware of the fact that you are responsible for him and his safety and his awkward acknowledgement of the fact only increases your devotion. At the same time, learning to know him better, you can see his less honorable sides: his childishness when it comes to certain situations, his stubborn pigheadedness. And yet it only makes you love him even more. He's the twin brother you never had.

One year later, both Mitsuhide and you are elevated to the status of sword master. You are not the only woman with the title but there are only two others. What you are is the only woman to serve as a Sword, as a Knight and aide to a member of the Royal Family.

You know from experience: a life lived in isolation is best because nobody can hurt you. But you also know the price for imperviousness. It started a long time ago, when you realized people would not be able to hurt you when you shut them out: did what they wanted, ultimately, but shutting out the people themselves. That way, you learned discipline. Later, with the knights, you worked hard to prove them right: you_ were_ better than them. Weapons can hurt you. Fists can, too, and even blunt objects. But words – they only have power if you let them get to you and they only get to you when you acknowledge the speaker. It is a simple process but one that takes rigorous training, and time. A lot of time, because humans tend to care for what others say about them. But once the point is reached it is not only sensible but necessary, too. You have no intention of letting people see they rattled you and you don't intend letting them rattle you. But at least, if they do, they won't see it.

They call you ice queen.

Your rivals hate and envy you. The palace guard and soldiers mistrust and underestimate you – you are a woman, after all – and your friends drop away one by one, leaving the Castle as you have left it, going to where they are sent on missions. You see each other less and less. The ties to your family are almost nonexistent at this point and you never had friends at home. So this is what it has come to, you think. You've always been alone, one way or another. At the top, it is lonely.

It seems like a reoccurring theme.

"Have you gone _insane_?!"

Mitsuhide bellows at you and the next thing you know is that you are in the Healing Quarters, a deep stab wound in your side. The pain, though dulled by narcotics, still is excruciating. One year ago, you became an aide. Zen is asleep, rolled into a tight ball in one corner of the bed. Mitsuhide is glaring, his arms crossed. His entire body is a wordless shout.

"Care to explain?"

"I wanted to help-"

"Did it seem to you like I was unable to defend myself?" You've never seen him shout at _anyone_ before. It is scary, frankly. "You are too reckless, Kiki! At this rate you'll end up dead before Zen even thinks of marriage! How could you – so reckless, so stupid, if you weren't injured this badly I'd beat you up until…"

He continues ranting for a while, then, realizing you are barely conscious, stops and sighs. His glare turns into an apology.

"Sorry, Kiki, I shouldn't have dumped this all on you know. You need to get better first." His voice drops and he looks away. "You're not alone. You can't risk your life this easily, even if it is your own decision to do so."

You want to cry, then, because he sounds so distressed and so like Mitsuhide. And so _honest._ It is when you realize that this one year at Zen's side – training with him and Mitsuhide, watching them train, watching them work and working with them, travelling and living with them – they have become the most precious thing in your life.

So why do you feel alone, then? Is it just a left-over of years and years of building up a wall between you and your surroundings? How much of this loneliness is due to your status and your position, and how much of it is self-imposed? Because you are not alone. Not by far. There still are your friends from your training days whom you still meet even if it is only seldom. A few soldiers of the palace guard at whose crude jokes you can laugh and who treat you with respect, even more so since you can hold up your own when it comes to drinking. And you have Zen and Mitsuhide, and soon Obi and Shirayuki join your small family. Zen, your liege lord, your prince, the person you have sworn to protect with your life. Obi, who has become a friend, although you still are suspicious on times. But as long as his past has nothing to do with Zen's present or future, it is fine. You trust him to not pose any danger to the Prince, especially seeing as Obi seems invested in Zen's safety, as well. You have Shirayuki, who talks to you and treats you like to an elder sister, asks for advice and smiles when you enter the room, and the knowledge that she is as important to Zen (though in another way) as she is to you is oddly comforting. You don't know if you can really live up to that kind of expectation but you figure the age difference is not that big, so you just go along and it works out. And then, there is Mitsuhide. Your superior, when it comes to it, though it does not matter since both of you answer directly to Zen. Your partner: for sparring, for work, for protecting Zen, for guard duty, for _everything_. There are so many dimensions and layers to the one word that you do not dare to even try to explain it. He has become a necessity in your life: without him, you are not complete anymore.

It is frightening, really.

Three men have influenced your life up till today, four if you count your father but you don't. Kyo was your elder brother, the person you loved most in the world. He taught you everything you needed to survive, but he also taught you love and strength. In your world, he was the river, carrying you forward gently and holding you while you learned how to swim. Zen is next – the Prince you have now served for five years is one of your oldest friends, a person you trust and serve faithfully and protect with your life. He taught you how to move on and face the future, and also how to accept the inevitable. In your world, he is the lake: steady and reliable, with depths that don't worry you because you know he will always repay you with the same respect you pay him. And Mitsuhide – he is your partner; reliable, honest, true, no pretenses and no lies and just Mitsuhide. He taught you to value every minute, every second of these last years, he showed you you're not alone and he taught you absolute loyalty. His is an example you think you can never reach but that won't stop you from trying. In your world, he is the sea: ever-changing and yet the same, and whenever you are afraid of losing yourself you just have to look at him and everything falls back into place.

It is dangerous.

But human relationships are intricate and to be feared if you fear relationships and connections. You do not want to fear anymore. You don't want to be bound by the shackles your father imposed on you, wordless and without a glance, or your stepmother, with all the more words and her shrill voice and demeaning gestures. You are free from expectations – _she will make First, as usual, it's so boring_ – and taunts – _too good to speak with us, huh? Let's get her talking, mates –_ that accompanied you through your apprentice years, and, finally, free from the doubts you held yourself prisoner with for so many years. You are free to give away your loyalty, your friendship, your respect and your heart at your own decision.

Knowing this, how can you not love?

Mitsuhide stares at the evening sky, a beautiful display of slowly falling darkness but your glance is caught not by the sky but by the sea in front of it. The blue is breathtaking in its endlessness. It merges into the sky at the horizon, golden and violet and red, but while the sky changes its colors the sea remains the same. And before it: Mitsuhide, light hair, tall posture, his shoulders broad and strong, and his features blur in the last sunlight that is reflected off the waves.

_This is the place you want to be._

On the other side of the training hall Zen and Shirayuki are sitting on the stone window sill. Zen picks a stray petal from Shirayuki's hair and both smile at each other, bright and in love, and Mitsuhide's gaze has wandered down and towards the couple. You shift your position and try to see them with his eyes: young and full of dreams, full of ideals, radiating an aura you cannot define but that blinds you whenever you look at them too long. They are beautiful. _These are the people you want to be with. _Shirayuki's hair dances in the wind and Zen catches the stray stands, wraps them around his hand idly and kisses it and Shirayuki laughs. They look so happy together, so obviously and entirely in love, have been so for the last four years. Obi lingers in the trees, guarding faithfully. And besides you Mitsuhide is now watching these not-children-anymore with an expression which tugs at your heart. _This is the face you want to see when you open your eyes in the morning. This is the face you want to see before you close your eyes at night._

The tide rises up and swallows you.

You watch his profile: he notices, turns to you and gives you a smile. So open and kind you forget that you only have one year left and that you will have to return to the dark house and its cold inhabitants in one year. And that you still haven't told him about it. The letter weighs heavily in your pocket.

All you see is Mitsuhide against the backdrop of the glorious sea.

(Tomorrow, you will tell him.)


End file.
